all ask me the same question.
Yes ... you'll take your turn, my friend. Don't be afraid. They'll
give you the air in the bull pen, all right! Ha, ha, ha!" And with
that he picked up the dishpan of untasted breakfast and hurried from
the room.

Fred Starratt sank down upon the bed. His temples were throbbing and
his body wet with an icy sweat.

* * * * *

He was roused by a vigorous but not ungentle tap upon the shoulder. He
stumbled to his feet, shaking himself into a semblance of courage. But
instead of the malevolent giant of the breakfast hour, a genial man of
imposing bulk stood before him. "My name is Harrison," his visitor
began, kindly; "I'm an assistant to the superintendent... Perhaps
you'd like to tell me something about yourself?"

Fred drew back a trifle. "Must I?..."

Harrison smiled as he seated himself in the chair.

"No ... but they usually do ... after the first night... It helps,
sometimes, to talk."

"I am afraid there's nothing to tell... I'm here, and I'll make the
best of it..."

Fred wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead with a gesture of
despair.

Harrison leaned forward. "Don't you feel well?" he inquired.

"It's nothing... I looked out into the yard this morning... I dare say
one gets used to it--but for the moment... You have other yards, I
suppose... That is, I sha'n't have to take the air there ... shall I
... in the bull pen?"

"It's usual ... for the first day or two. But perhaps in your case--"
Harrison broke off. "However, I can't promise anything... If you'll
come to the office I'll give you back your clothes."

They went into the office together and Fred received his clothing duly
marked with his name and ward. But his shoes were withheld and in
their place he was given a pair of mismated slippers which proved too
large. Harrison handed him two rag strips with which he tied them on.
Looking down at the shapeless, flapping footgear, Fred Starratt felt
his humiliation to be complete. He walked slowly back to his room.

The noise from the bull pen was deafening. He went to the window and
steeled himself against the sight below... At first he shuddered, but
gradually his hands became clenched, in answer to a rising
determination. Why should he flinch from anything God himself could
look upon?... He was still standing by the window when the gong for
the midday meal sounded. The bull pen had long since been deserted
and, with the foregroun